


A Tragedy In Three Acts

by dogtit



Series: in four years [2]
Category: Ever After High
Genre: F/F, post for the other two!, pre-dragon games for the first chapter, semi au? sure why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:13:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5890582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogtit/pseuds/dogtit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s never been the singleminded focus of a selfish girl like Duchess; she realizes, with a drop of heat, that Duchess would pursue her like an ever after, if given the chance. From the flash in those brown eyes, Poppy thinks, that no matter what she says now she will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waltz & Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

> drags myself into rarepair hell !!!!!

Graduation is a process. 

 

The week of is mostly spent packing, and saying your goodbyes. This is the last time you’ll see your classmates before destiny seizes hold of them, after all. The Mermaid? Soon her legs will vanish and she’ll be dragged into the cold depths, longing for a world she once walked upon and will now see as a foggy dream. The Princes? One will be a beast and the other blinded by thorns. 

 

The shapeshifters will lose themselves one way or another; Bunny Blanc spends every moment she can to hold Alastair’s hand before the long roads of their destinies force her to become his beguiling guide into madness as little more than a cotton-tailed rabbit. Ramona Badwolf nods as her father tells her over and over again, in a gruff and quiet voice, to  _ stay close to the shadows and the trees, they will come for your pelt. I love you, pup. Be safe. _

 

And then there is...

 

Well.

 

Poppy tries not to think about the future, really. She’s content to dwell on the past.

 

* * *

 

The thing with Duchess starts like most romances do; like a poison, completely out of their control and so subtle that they don’t notice until it is far too late. Poppy remembers the breathless rush of soaring in the cold, winter air, clutching someone else’s hand and feeling her heart pound against her ribs, her blood singing fire in her heart. The genuine compliment-- _ you were great _ \--coming from someone as hostile and selfish as Duchess, well, it sticks with her. For some reason, the two of them don’t exactly--stay away from the other. Duchess bosses her into skating forms and Poppy attacks the ice as much as she can.

 

Ankles straight. Shoulders back. Don’t flap your arms like an idiot, Poppy, what the  _ spell _ is wrong with you--and Duchess corrects her with surprisingly gently hands, steady,  _ like this, okay? Like dancing. _

 

Poppy has never danced and especially not ballet so the advice is honestly wasted, but Duchess doesn’t stop trying. When she retires to her room with her sister, Holly comments that Poppy should be careful.

 

“Why?” she’d asked.

 

“Duchess was looking at you, like  _ really _ looking at you,” Holly had said, brushing her hair. “That’s more than enough reason to be on your guard.”

 

* * *

 

Duchess’s hair is gorgeous. Poppy knows the difference between high quality highlights and those of natural magic, which makes the ivory streaks woven against ebony curls even more enchanting. She comes in every two weeks for a clean trim and a deep conditioning treatment so Poppy gets more than her fair share of oogling. 

 

The hair, of course. Not Duchess Swan. That would be, like,  _ so _ improper.

 

They don’t have a lot in common, Duchess and her. Poppy has no destiny--or has chosen to let Holly take her birthright, not that anyone needs to know--and Duchess pursues hers with more intensity than Apple White which is  _ saying _ something. While Apple is content to poke and prod and sometimes beg Raven Queen to turn evil, Duchess would have dug her nails in deep and  _ demanded _ it, not taking no for an answer. She would backstab and blackmail and cheat her way into a happily ever after, if she could. Poppy privately admires it, maybe not the method, but the dedication. 

 

“How’s the water?” Poppy asks as she starts process of washing out the first wave of sweet smelling conditioner from Duchess’s hair, black and white slipping through her fingers like silk.  _ Enchanting _ . “Is it too warm?” 

 

She half expects an acidic barb flung her way, even braces for it, but Duchess hums in the back of her throat. 

 

“It’s perfect,” she says, unnaturally soft. “For once.” 

 

_ Ah, there. _ Poppy hides a grin and pumps the conditioner in her hands again. 

 

* * *

 

She speaks with her hands, Poppy notes out the corner of her eye as she chews on her pen. She takes the Muse-ic mainly for the credits, but she won’t deny a subtle and instinctive pull towards singing that she supposes has to do with a destiny she gave to Holly.

 

Duchess being in the class is a bit of a bonus, in that she is  _ fascinating  _ and Poppy likes to think that they’re acquaintances bordering on tentative friends, by now. Maybe? Duchess is always so hostile that she doesn’t have any friends, only lackeys, but Poppy likes her spunk. Spite is always such a strange motivator, unhealthy but powerful.

 

Muse-ic--performing in general--seems to unearth that softer side in Duchess that Poppy only got to see once. Duchess is passionate about it, just a step below her endgame happily ever after, always asking about measures and keys and tempos, gesturing with her hands. She could read out a phonebook and make it seem entertaining, Poppy thinks, staring at the picture Duchess paints with graceful flourishes of her wrist.

 

* * *

 

“You’ve really,  _ really _ got to be careful,” Holly begs her. “Duchess has been...hovering around you, I think. She’s at least in the same building as you, y’know, all the time.”

 

“Really?” Poppy covers her mouth to hide the excited curl of her lips. “I mean, we go to the same school. Can’t really help that, sis.”

 

“Poppy.” Holly scolds her softly, and they catch eyes in the mirror. Holly looks frightened, which is strange; there are worse things than Duchess Swan in the world. Holly worries too much. “Please, be careful? I don’t want you getting dragged into any schemes.”

 

“It’s fine, Holly,” Poppy says, looking away from the mirror. “She can’t take away my destiny.”

 

_ I don’t have one. _

 

* * *

 

“You’ve been staring at me,” Duchess says as she puts a palm against Poppy’s locker, making it slam shut. A show of intimidation and dominance; even though students are looking their way with wide eyes, worried, Duchess has her voice pitched low. It’s almost like they’re sharing secrets; Poppy blinks slow, tilting her head and peering through a purple fringe.

 

She wants to say something cool. Instead, she murmurs, “Can you blame me?” 

 

_ Oh that was stupid. Why did I say that? Hex me! Ugh! _

 

Duchess’s lips part and she  _ flounders _ , like she was expecting Poppy to cower. Maybe if she’d done this weeks earlier, or maybe if Holly hadn’t told her that Duchess stared  _ too _ , or if she’d still been a new kid around the halls, she might have. They remain in a bubble of tense  _ what now _ , unsure of where to tread. 

 

Duchess takes a breath. Presses harder against the locker so that the muscles in her arms slide beneath milky skin. Deceptively strong; a dancer’s lithe form.  _ Enchanting. _

 

“Well, either  _ stop it _ or we’ll settle things at the lake.” Duchess snorts. “Your choice.” 

 

_ An invitation.  _ Poppy’s heart kicks into her throat as Duchess turns on the tips of her toes,  _ pointe _ , and walks down the hall like she’s set for murder. For a moment she stops, ponders what exactly she should do. If Holly were around, she’d say…

 

_ If you surrender to fear, then fear wins _ .

The problem is that Poppy isn’t afraid. Not at all.

 

* * *

 

She goes to the lake after classes are out. She tells Holly that she’s meeting a friend for coffee, that she’ll be back before dark; it’s not  _ exactly _ a lie, or perhaps only half of one. It’s fine, she assures herself.  _ I won’t surrender to fear _ .

 

Duchess is lost in a dance as she steps to the shore/. She’s in deep thought, Poppy guesses, and while she should politely raise her voice and  _ say _ something, she finds that her voice is caught tight. 

 

Duchess dances like she’s going to die. 

 

_ Allegro _ . Fast, frantic; every move counting, chin held high and neck bared as if in offering. The stretch of her sinew is clearly defined, now. She hasn’t even broken a sweat; the beads of moisture clinging to her skin are drops of water flung from the surface of the lake she frantically dances on. 

 

Her eyes are closed. Poppy would be impressed if she wasn’t breathless.

 

There is something so, so sweet in Duchess’s tortured expression. She looks like a child chasing after something out of reach, and each  _ grand j _ _ eté _ is followed by a whiplash of a  _ pirouette _ , tighter and tighter. Poppy feels like that, too; wound tight inside. It’s hard to breathe; her breath explodes out of her in a  _ puh _ as Duchess faces away from her, balancing on  _ pointe _ and stretching her arms out, like wings.

 

They both freeze. Poppy’s ragged breathing fills the silence between them; Duchess’s hasn’t changed at all. She straightens, balanced on the surface of the water, and faces Poppy. She hasn’t put away that vulnerable, frightened face yet; Poppy feels dizzy. She sits down on a rock, swallowing with a dry throat. 

 

_ Enchanting _ , she thinks again, and she knows she’s staring but at least Duchess stares back at her. The wet slap of her heels against the water brings Poppy somewhat out of it, and Duchess steps closer. Ten feet, then five. Then two. 

 

“I,” Duchess looks away, lips pursed. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

 

Poppy tries to gather her thoughts. “Were you hoping I...wasn’t?”

 

“Yes. No!” Duchess snaps her teeth. “No, I really...I really wasn’t. I want to know why you’ve been looking at me.” 

 

_ Why have you been looking at me back? _ Poppy bites back the question, and answers, “Because I--I love your hair.” 

 

Duchess arches a brow, mouth cranking into a frown. 

 

“And-!” She rakes a hand through her own bangs, feeling her face heat. “I really admire your--your dedication. I don’t, I don’t have a destiny. Never wanted one, really, but you’re so  _ focused _ on yours and so--so--I don’t know!” She looks up, meets brown with her own spring green. “I can’t look anywhere else.”

 

She has the honor of watching Duchess’s cheeks go rosy pink and she looks away, giving Poppy her profile. Poppy watches a wayward drop of water treck down her temple, over the sleek line of her jaw, and to the tendons in her neck. It settles in the cradle of her collarbones and the tightness comes back, constricting like a snake, and Poppy thinks that maybe Holly was onto something. She could seriously die if this is going to be the norm between her and Duchess, now.

 

“Can’t look...anywhere else,” Duchess murmurs, slowly looking back her way. Good Godmother, if Duchess keeps showing her that softness, maybe slow death by asphyxiation will be worth it? It’s a gift that no one else has gotten, being that Duchess doesn’t really give gifts at all. 

 

Duchess glances to the lake. Back to Poppy. Offers her hand, like a weapon. “Dance with me.” 

 

“Hah, wait--what?” Poppy shakes her head. “I can’t dance on the water. I can’t  _ dance? _ “

 

“Shut  _ up _ ,” Duchess says between her teeth, “and  _ dance with me. _ Or--or just! Learn to stop  _ looking _ at me!” 

 

This is another invitation, she realizes a second before she tugs away her scarf, and grabs Duchess’s hand. 

 

* * *

 

_ Pas de deux _ ; dance for two.

 

An impossible feat on land, considering the gap between their experience. An absolute nightmare when Poppy is wearing heels and is shin deep in water where Duchess flits about it like it's another stage. 

 

Poppy doesn’t get it. At all. Duchess will hiss commands and correct her on her form, sharply--but when she touches her to stretch her arms at the right angle, they’re gentle. 

 

“Steady,” Duchess says, “like this, okay? Like...skating.” 

 

Poppy shivers like she’s on the frozen lake all over again, and the adrenaline pumping in her body is almost the same as taking a leap through the cold air. It’s like drowning when Duchess spins away, and Poppy moves to follow, grimacing as she goes in mid thigh. Her tights are ruined; it’ll take a miracle to save the dress and she has no idea how she’s going to explain all of this to Holly. 

 

Duchess twirls, and bends low.  _ Arabesque. _ This is how she communicates when she can’t force it through her words, Poppy guesses. Then Duchess’s cold hands frame her cheeks, and Poppy’s neck cranes back.

 

“I like looking at you like this,” she whispers, her thumb stroking over Poppy’s fluttering pulse. “I want...to keep looking at you. Just you.” Something like regret settles in her eyes, as she adds, “Only in secret.”

 

Maybe Duchess speaks in Riddlish when she wants to talk about actual feelings. Poppy doesn’t know. 

 

“You want to date me?” She ends up saying, blunt and coming out as a squeak. “But...in secret.” She feels her mouth turning into a frown. “You’re afraid?”  _ If you surrender… _

 

“No.” Duchess answers with uncharacteristic calm, and her other thumb sweeps over Poppy’s lip. She inspects her mouth for smudges; finds none. Poppy buys the good stuff. “Just selfish. I want you, and this, all to myself. Every inch.” 

 

Poppy shivers again, because the lake water is  _ cold  _ and Duchess is...being Duchess. In a profoundly different way. She’s never been the singleminded focus of a selfish girl like Duchess; she realizes, with a drop of heat, that Duchess would pursue her like an ever after, if given the chance. From the flash in those brown eyes, Poppy thinks, that no matter what she says now she  _ will _ .

 

Poppy had a chance;  _ stop looking or come to the lake to settle this _ . 

 

“Is it--are you ashamed? Because I’m a girl?”

 

“No, idiot.” Duchess rolls her eyes. “Who cares about  _ gender _ ? I already told you, we’d keep it secret because I’m  _ selfish _ .” 

 

_ Every inch. _

 

For a while, people had quietly debated on which swan Duchess really was. From her attire and her beauty, she could be the white swan easily; fragile and hungry for love, adoration. But her other form and her  _ negative _ personality would make her lean more toward the black; starving, vicious. 

 

She’s both. Poppy’s eyes lift from Duchess’s face to the spill of her hair, white woven against black, naturally, the answer staring them all in the face. 

 

Holly’s warnings suddenly make sense; Duchess was staring at her like a  _ destiny _ . 

 

_ If I surrender _ …

 

“Okay,” Poppy whispers. “Our little secret, then.” 

 

Duchess’s face blooms, eyes flicking over her face. “You’re okay with it?”

 

When has Poppy O’Hair done things conventionally? Besides, it won’t be as bad a secret as she shares with Holly. “Yes. Because I want to keep looking at you too.” 

 

Duchess’s laugh is low, and rich. Her kiss, just as much.


	2. Entrée & Adage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She expects a catty remark. _Of course, not for you. I’m selfish. This benefits my image, Poppy. Didn’t you know, coming into this? I am a selfish girl._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bumped up the rating because of Implications! but nothing explicit happens, oops

There’s a new edge to caring for Duchess’s hair. 

 

She knows what temperature water Duchess likes for her rinses. When she runs her fingers through, working in conditioner, she makes sure to massages against the nape of her neck with slippery fingers. Duchess’s relaxed little sigh and the sight of her nearly melting into the chair brings with it a thrill of satisfaction. Rolling her thumbs just behind her ears brings a barely noticeable shudder, and lightly raking her nails over her scalp makes her breath hitch. 

 

Poppy finishes washing out the conditioner, combs and parts it, and starts the long process of drying and pinning it back in place. To the awe of the salon, Duchess has no complaint to utter; she doesn’t really speak at all. 

 

But she watches. Poppy doesn’t notice it until she glances up to the mirror, bobby pins tucked in her mouth, and meets Duchess’s hungry stare in the mirror. 

 

_ So much for secret? _ Poppy goes red and the corner of Duchess’s lips quirk with victory. Maybe it’s an... _ open  _ secret? Duchess doesn’t parade around the halls declaring them an item, or anything, but it’s not like she makes an effort to hide her interest.

 

That’s a part of the thrill, Poppy guesses. 

 

When the final piece is carefully tucked into Duchess’s hair--the hairpiece--Poppy stands back and grins around a lone pin in her mouth. “All done!”

 

“And would you look at that,” Duchess drawls, looking to the clock. “Faster than usual.”

 

“Maybe I’m just finally getting the hang of your hair.” Poppy walks to the register, starts ringing her up. She almost puts in her employee discount, but a quick glance to Duchess and a shake of her head stays her hand. 

 

“Maybe you are,” Duchess says, airliy, and lays out her payment in cash. “But you know, you can take your time with me.” Her voice drips with innuendo, and Poppy gulps hard. “I don’t want you making a sloppy mistake with  _ my  _ hair.” 

 

She struts out with an upturned nose. She doesn’t leave a tip.

 

* * *

 

 

They meet at the lake, often. Duchess is happiest there, and Poppy won’t say no to watching her dance again. It’s never as intense as the first time, but maybe that’s the point. As breathtaking as it was to watch her dance, Poppy doesn’t think her heart could take it. 

 

_ Adagio. _ Slow, flowing movements with no rush to get to the end, to solve the mystery. A continuous, slow build. Poppy shifts on the blanket she brought to lay out on the grass, watching Duchess twist and twirl on the silvery water’s surface. Duchess dances only after they both finish their homework-- _ If I’m going to dance for you, I demand your full attention. You got that? _ \--and it’s both a reward for Poppy and a stress relief for Duchess. 

 

_ Enchanting. _ Each kick brings a shower of droplets, sparkling like stars and glittering when they land in Duchess’s hair. Poppy had appreciated ballet as a form of dance--the work you had to put into it, the dedication to your craft, that’s something anyone can appreciate, right?--but now she’s seriously starting to see it’s  _ beauty _ . Watching Duchess dance makes her feel things. 

 

A stunning arc of limps later, and Duchess bows at the waist. Poppy claps politely, and she can feel her grin getting bigger when Duchess’s cheeks color. 

 

It’ll never get old, making that happen.

 

“Gorgeous,” Poppy says as Duchess walks to shore. She reaches into her backpack and pulls out a towel, offering it when Duchess takes a seat beside her. “Honestly, it’s already cool enough that you can walk on water? But  _ ballet? _ ”

 

Duchess pats away the water and smirks. “Flattery won’t get you everywhere, O’Hair. But it’s definitely a  _ start _ …”

 

“Flattery?” Poppy leans back on her hands, laughing again. “What, I can’t compliment my…”

 

She drifts off, unsure of what to say. Is  _ girlfriend _ appropriate? Would Duchess feel okay with that? She waits until Duchess looks at her again, and says, “...girlfriend?”

 

_ Nailed it _ , she praises herself when she’s rewarded with a soft, warm smile. This is another appeal of the secret; she gets parts of Duchess that no one else will, and she barely has to do a thing for them. She just has to...be herself. All she has to do is look, and be looked at. 

 

It’s certainly not a conventional relationship, Poppy will admit that much. It might not even be the healthiest, but she’s free to leave whenever she wants, same as Duchess. There’s always a choice, in relationships, and she’s choosing this one. 

 

_ I don’t want to share you _ , she realizes distantly, as Duchess slides closer and sets the towel aside. Their hands brush on the blanket and heat curls lazily from her stomach. Poppy shifts, trying for nonchalance; Duchess tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, a delicately shy motion that makes her fingers curl in the blanket. Poppy takes a chance, a breath, and slides her fingers free of cloth and over Duchess’s. 

 

A heartbeat.

 

Duchess curls her fingers around her own, and leans in. They don’t kiss; Poppy goes still when Duchess lays her head against her shoulder, taking in the smell of flowery conditioner. It’s never been so vibrant a scent or so singularly arresting before. Poppy used to work with it all day before she became a student, but context is important. She’s never had someone this  _ close _ to her, in all respects. 

 

“This is…” Poppy nuzzles back, confident that Duchess won’t pull away. “This is so romantic. I’m--”

 

“Surprised?” Duchess’s voice carries dry humor. 

 

“...Yeah,” Poppy admits with a laugh. “A little.” 

 

“Well.” Duchess sighs. “I’ve got to stock up on romance before graduation. You know how it is.”

 

Poppy feels her heart stutter and nearly flinches. What does that  _ mean? _ Even if there’s a...hiccup, at least in some part of Duchess’s fairytale, she’s still going to get her happy ending. Why else would she be pursuing her destiny so furiously? 

 

_ What’s so special about a destiny, anyway? Write your own. Write one with me in it. _

 

Poppy doesn’t say that. She turns her head, kisses the crown of Duchess’s head, and murmurs, “Can I help?” 

 

Duchess lifts her head, tilts it. Their kiss is slow and sweet, tender if Poppy dares to think about it. Duchess is so  _ breakable _ in this moment that Poppy isn’t sure what she should do. The weight of destiny hangs over them like a silver blade, and she’s never hated it more than she does right now.

 

So she kisses Duchess again, letting it linger. Vibrant lipstick smears against the corner of her mouth from the force and she doesn’t  _ care _ , because Duchess grasps at the back of her neck with a soft sound choked in the back of her throat, pulls her closer. 

 

If it was a sob, well, Poppy isn’t going to tell.

 

* * *

 

 

Holly gets invited to a sleepover with the other Royals three weeks later, and Poppy doesn’t think much of it. She’s really not feeling well; surrendering her destiny to Holly must finally be sinking in with her body, because she’s starting to do poorly in her classes. It’s that, or how often she sneaks out and spends her time with Duchess at the lake, watching the stars and dancing and--

 

Other things. 

 

Between all of that, and her shifts at work, too, she’s feeling a little worn thin.

 

“You’re sure you don’t wanna come, sis?” Holly asks. “Apple totally won’t mind if you come along, really--”

 

“I’m sure, Holly,” Poppy says around a yawn, shutting her textbook and setting her completed homework in a folder for the next day. “I think I’m just gonna crash. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

 

“No,” Holly murmurs, voice soft. “You really haven’t.” 

 

Poppy braces herself because  _ here it is _ , the other shoe dropping--

 

“Who have you been meeting up with?” 

 

She winces. Runs her hand over her head and rubs at her eyes. She doesn’t want to do this, not when she honestly  _ does _ want to go to sleep for forever. She’s  _ tired _ . Cranky, too, because Duchess is pulling away the closer they get to graduation and Poppy knows a split end when she sees one. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Poppy says, voice cracking. “I can’t tell you.”

 

Holly sets down her bag on the vanity. Poppy starts to massage at the ache in her temples, her heart kicking up with anxiety. 

 

“Is it someone dangerous?” Her twin’s voice shakes with fear and a quiet, simmering fury. “Who is it? Poppy, are they  _ blackmailing _ you? Are they making you--”

 

“No, Holly, no. It’s fine. They’re fine,  _ I’m _ fine, I promise.”

 

“Don’t lie to me,” Holly whispers tightly. “And you--you can’t keep  _ secrets _ like this from me! We’re  _ sisters _ , Poppy, we’re supposed to share everything. You can trust me, you know that.”

 

“Well, maybe I don’t _want_ to share for once!” Poppy’s voice raises from frustration, her temper snapping. “Maybe I want to keep _something_ just for me, _just for_ _once!_ ”

 

The secret hangs in the air between them. Poppy gave up purpose, gave up security, gave up the guarantee of an ever after. All it takes is one of them going to Headmaster Grimm and telling the truth and then it would be Poppy’s signature in that stupid book. 

 

But there is no more book, is there? Raven Queen shelved that a long time ago. Not that it matters, because Poppy never felt the magic of the book's pages sinking into her. Holly felt it. Holly got it. The end! 

 

Holly swallows and her eyes swim with tears. Without words, she picks up her bag and she leaves the room. She doesn’t even slam the door, and Poppy’s sure that stings the most. The fact that Holly can’t even be mad with her. Because she  _ understands _ that Poppy has so little of her own, because Holly is the same. Poppy drops her head in her hands and groans. 

 

She’ll...she’ll text Holly in a few hours. Apologize. And she’ll call Duchess and tell her that she  _ needs _ to tell Holly, at the least, because she doesn’t want to hurt her sister anymore. She can’t believe that she even put Holly through this for as long as she has, honestly--what kind of sister is she?

 

Poppy collapses onto her bed and sobs into her pillow. She’s allowed to wallow a little. She’s only in this stupid school because Holly asked and pulled enough strings to bring her along. If it weren't for Holly, she really would have  _nothing_. No good friends, no opportunities, she wouldn't even have been this close to Duchess if it weren't for her being a student. How could she hurt Holly like this? 

 

_ If you surrender to fear, then fear wins. _

 

She doesn’t know how long she cries for, only that she has a small mountain of tissues in her wastebasket and her eyes feel like they’re on fire by the time she registers the soft sound of something tapping at her window. Startled, Poppy looks up. A black swan pecks at her window again, trumpets in agitation. 

 

“Oh, oh no--” She doesn’t need Duchess to see her right now, make up running and pathetic and  _ stupid _ , but Stars does she  _ need to see Duchess _ . Even if she’s here to say that it’s over and done that’s fine. She’s already cried herself out. She rushes to the window, prying it open and letting Duchess swoop in. “--I am so, so sorry, I didn’t hear you and I didn’t know you’d--did I miss a text, o-or something, I’m  _ sorry-- _ ”

 

Duchess changes forms and storms for her. Cups her face. Furious, she whispers, “ _ Are you okay? _ “

 

Poppy’s mouth drops. She wasn’t expecting concern. 

 

“Poppy!” Duchess shakes her a little, her brows furrowed. “Say something, you dunce!” 

 

“--I fought with Holly.” Is what manages to crack out of her useless mouth. “She was wondering who I was meeting with and we fought. I-I yelled at her. We’ve never fought and I didn’t--want to make you mad, then you’d leave even  _ sooner _ and everything’s f-falling apart--”

 

Duchess pets her face, her hair, shushing her. Poppy coughs and chokes, lets Duchess lead her to the bed. Wordlessly she is handed more tissues, and then the bottle of water she keeps on her bedside table. Poppy collects herself as best she can while Duchess also helps herself to her mirrorphone, plugging in her password. She doesn’t see what Duchess does, but she is pulled close an instant later. 

 

“Close your eyes,” Duchess says softly. “I’m going to kiss you.”

 

“But I’m snotty and gross, Duchess,  _ what _ \--”

 

“ _ Close your eyes. _ ” 

 

Poppy shuts her eyes, shivering. Duchess kisses her a moment later and Poppy feels every tense muscle unwind. All she can focus on is the way Duchess has one arm around her waist, hand spread across her spine, the softness of her lips, the flash of light of the camera going off--

 

_ Wait, what? _

 

Poppy parts with a gasp. She sees Duchess about to hit  _ send _ on the message--a picture of them kissing, of all things?--to Holly with a wicked expression. “What the  _ spell _ \--!?”

 

“How’s this for a message? ‘‘Stop making your sister cry, I’m the one she’s seeing. Also don’t come back to the room unless you want to see something  _ really _ inappropriate.’” Duchess looks up, brow arched at Poppy’s stunned silence. “What, too long? I’ll abbreviate some things.” 

 

“I thought--” Poppy rasps, “--you wanted us to be a secret?”

 

“Yeah, I did. And now I don’t.” Duchess flips her hair over her shoulder. She bites her lip and looks at Poppy from the very corner of her eyes. “Do...do  _ you  _ still want to be a secret? It’s...it’s upsetting you. Keeping it from her, so I just thought…”

 

“You’d--you’d do that?” Poppy’s voice is a whisper. “For me?”

 

She expects a catty remark.  _ Of course, not for you. I’m selfish. This benefits my image, Poppy. Didn’t you know, coming into this? I am a selfish girl. _

 

“Of course,” Duchess grates, and one of her hands seizes Poppy’s. “I...I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It hasn’t been... _ fair _ , I know, but I’ve never been ashamed, or afraid. I just wanted something of my own b-before…”

 

Graduation. Destiny. The beginning of Duchess’s bittersweet end. She takes the mirrorphone from Duchess and types in,  _ srry for not telling u b4. have fun @ apple, i love you sis. also pls dont come the room might be off limits sorry!!!! _

 

She adds a couple heart emojis, and hits send. When the phone lets out a chime of success, she puts it on silent. Then she tosses the phone aside as she runs to the door to lock it, so that Holly can’t barge back in once she gets the message. She looks up, face blotchy from her tears and hair askew and eyes wild; Duchess stands and takes cautious steps to her side. 

 

Poppy laughs, the sound bubbling out of her throat. “Do you want to show me off, now?” Her heart races with her mind, her eyes wide. “Hold my hand? Can I take you out for coffee? And use my employee discount when you come in to get your hair done?”

 

It says a lot about them that these are counted among the romantic gestures Poppy can think of, but Duchess sputters a laugh anyway and she gets in Poppy’s space, hands grasping hers. 

 

“Yeah. Sure.” Her smile is illuminated by moonlight, made soft with something heated inside her eyes. “We’ll start with coffee. Your treat.”

 

_ A date. _ Poppy leans up on her toes, kisses her again.  _ A real date! During normal people hours!  _ Her sleep schedule will finally be back to normal. Hit with a sudden thought, Poppy breaks the kiss to smile against Duchess’s mouth. 

 

“So you wanted to warn her about something inappropriate, huh?”

 

Duchess stifles a  _ squawk _ , going tense. “That was--a bluff, okay! I didn’t want her barging in and making you cry. We don’t actually--I didn’t come here expecting--”

 

Poppy kisses her again, lips parted. Duchess gasps against her mouth, squeezes their hands. Duchess still has those death heels on and Poppy’s getting a crick in her neck, so she mutters, “Sit. Bed. Neck hurts.” 

 

Duchess  _ stumbles _ back, obeying. Poppy doesn’t make the bold move of sitting in her lap, just sits beside her and pulls her arms around her. She runs her hands down Duchess’s back, feels the austere edges of her shoulderblades and imagines that, for a minute, they could be wings. Duchess clutches her back, one hand gripping in her short hair. 

 

“--I’m glad,” she whispers against Poppy’s lips, “that you’re not Rapunzel.” 

 

Poppy jerks in her grip, but whether it’s from Duchess’s hand sliding up her skirt or the words blistering against her heart is a mystery. 

 

“Short hair suits you more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha get rekt poppy


	3. Scène Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But the ending--Duchess, you always said that you’d get a happy ending, that you’d--you’d _take_ it if you had to--”
> 
> “Then I would have wasted time I could have spent with you,” Duchess says, and blows her entire world to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic also makes a soft reference to my other fic Loophole Abuse! a oneshot that did not kill me to write haha.

Poppy wakes up to her phone vibrating nonstop, her left arm asleep, and Duchess’s naked back pressed against her chest. Her face is buried in black and white tangles and her entire head feels like one huge ache, but she nuzzles close to press a kiss at the crook of her neck before rolling over. Duchess grumbles, complaining with her as she turns to follow. 

 

Poppy shakes her arm awake with a wince, fumbling with her phone to answer it as Duchess grabs around her waist. Poppy doesn’t look at the caller id as she swipes green, struggling to say  _ hello  _ around a yawn. 

 

“Can I unlock the door?” Holly’s voice comes through the phone and the door just outside the room. Poppy goes bright red as she hears a soft chorus of giggles, and Apple’s distinct, merry clapping. “I’ve been knocking for fifteen minutes just in case.” 

 

“No,” Poppy yelps, which startles Duchess into  _ squawking _ again, even if it comes out more as a honk, “no no, no! I’m, we’re not decent!” 

 

_ Hex me. _ Laughter ripples outside and Holly says, “Oh my Godmother, really?” 

 

Poppy hangs up and falls out of bed, tangled in the sheets. Duchess is already changed into a swan, and trumpets nervously. 

 

Lizzie Hearts says from beyond the door, “ I’ve left the window open for you, Duchess! ”

 

_ Hex me!! _ Poppy yanks on a random shirt and shorts and pries open the window. Duchess takes off in a scramble, before turning in midair and shoving her way to perch on the sill. Poppy wonders what she needs-- _ oh, I dunno, O’Hair, maybe her clothes? _ \--but Duchess stretches out her neck and rubs her cheek against Poppy’s chin. It has Poppy grinning goofily when Duchess flies off for real, and she shuts the window with a sigh. 

 

“ _ Poppy. _ ” Holly calls out again. “Can I come in  _ now? _ ” 

 

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, sis, it’s um. It’s good.”

 

Holly undoes the lock and opens the door. Poppy watches her face, anxiety rising in her like a sickness until she sees Holly trying hard to stifle a grin. She fails and runs for her with arms outstretched; Poppy nearly blubbers when Holly hugs her tight. 

 

“I shouldn’t have pressed you,” Holly whispers. “I’m sorry.”

 

“And I’m sorry for yelling,” Poppy croaks back. “I should have told you.”

 

“Well, yeah.” Holly laughs. “But, with an S.O. like Duchess Swan? I can see why you wouldn’t until you were both ready. I’m glad you’re okay.”

 

“Better than okay if this is any indication,” Briar Beauty drawls as she picks up Duchess’s dress by its spaghetti straps. “ _ Get it _ , girl.” 

 

“I’ll take that.” Lizzie collects Duchess’s clothing with a wicked giggle. “Oh, Poppy...your shirt is on backwards, by the way. Off with your tags!”

 

Poppy is fairly certain that this is how she’s going to die as Holly steps back from their hug, smothering cackles with her cupped palms. Blondie takes a dozen snapchats for posterity, so of course, by noon the entire school will know that they’re an item and that they went straight to the market and all the way home. 

 

* * *

 

 

Poppy walks with her sister down into town once she gets everything put into place. No one has to know that she spent the night previous sobbing her eyes out and then with Duchess. Unless Blondie has uploaded everything, which she might have? Poppy hasn’t checked her blogs yet because she’s still getting used to the whole thing. 

 

She hopes Duchess is okay. Maybe the whole reveal thing was a mistake? Poppy gnaws at a nail until she realizes someone’s coming up to her--three people, actually. Apple and Raven come together as a pair more often than not, especially after the whole thing with the Evil Queen and the dragons and  _ yikes. _

 

Darling Charming is a bit of a surprise, though. 

 

“We just wanted to wish you all the best with Duchess,” Apple says sweetly, one arm looped through Raven’s. 

 

“Yeah, good for you, Poppy,” Raven adds, her smile genuine. It’s common knowledge that Poppy has no ending planned for her, and that Duchess is firmly set on her own--or not? After this, it’s up in the air. Are they going to try and recruit either of them for one last Royal vs Rebel thing?

 

No, she realizes quickly. Neither Apple or Raven are the type. 

 

“Thanks, guys.” She laughs, brushing her hands through her hair. If she scans the halls for a black and white, or perks her ears for the sound of a familiar gait, well, now she doesn’t have to make an excuse for it. “I really appreciate your support. And your discretion.”

 

“To be fair,” Apple says, giggling, “you sent the picture first.”

 

True. Poppy flushes and rolls her eyes as Darling steps up. She’s surprised when she feels her hand taken in between Darling’s tanned ones. 

 

“If you ever need someone to talk to,” Darling says, “please don’t hesitate to call me. I know how difficult it can be. I’m here for you and Duchess.” 

 

Uh, wow. Poppy feels her cheeks burn hotter and she opens her mouth--probably to say something stupid in response, because that’s just the run of her luck, lately--when she feels arms around her shoulders and the sweet smell of her salon’s conditioner. 

 

“Excuse  _ you _ ,” Duchess says, haughtily, “didn’t you read the blogs? Hands off, Charming.” 

 

Darling releases her hand with a sheepish smile. “I was just offering support to the two of you. I swear.” 

 

“Yeah,  _ okay. _ ” Duchess drags out the word until Darling holds both of her hands up in surrender. “What _ ever _ you say, Darling!” It’s venom coated in sweetness, the black swan’s calling card. Poppy wonders what the adverse health effects are for a sudden rush of blood to the head, because it feels like her foundation’s just going to evaporate off of her face at this point.  “I’ve got my  _ eyes on you. _ ”

 

Poppy remembers in an instant that swans are territorial creatures, monogamous, and vicious if encroached. She feels warm in her stomach as Duchess herds her away, laughing as she waves over her shoulder.

 

They are stared at; people point, and whisper. Sparrow Hood shreds a riff and hollers, “ _ Duchess got laaaa-he-aaaaaaid _ \--” and Duchess shoves him into a garbage can with a snarl. But she keeps one arm around Poppy’s shoulders, and if she’s bothered by the attention then she has more than enough bark and bite to keep people at a distance. Poppy hesitates before she wraps an answering arm around Duchess’s waist. 

 

Duchess preens, and Poppy feels her nails scratching the nape of her neck encouragingly. 

 

* * *

 

 

Graduation is a process.

 

Poppy doesn’t notice it coming until it’s there. There is no book to sign, but there are still pledges to be made. Ashlynn says that she will become the new Cinderella, and Briar bursts into tears. Ramona Badwolf howls that she will be the biggest, the baddest wolf there is; Cerise Hood denies the mantle of her ancestors. 

Raven Queen says she will not become evil. Apple White holds her hand, and vows to follow her destiny her own way. 

 

Holly proudly proclaims that she will become Rapunzel, and Poppy claps politely. Duchess takes the stage, and Poppy thinks that maybe...maybe the months of them have meant something. That Duchess doesn’t need to follow her story to see her happily ever after through.

 

_ You can make one with me. _

 

Duchess Swan lifts her head, and says that she will become the new Swan Queen.

 

* * *

 

 

Poppy packs in a daze. Holly is quiet. The Enchantress will be there for her in the morning, to spirit her away to a tower and lock her there for years until a Charming gets her pregnant and she’s banished to the desert. If it’s Daring, Poppy is going to skin him alive.  

 

Her hands are shaking. 

 

“You should go see her,” Holly says, breaking the quiet. Poppy drops her heels and hisses beneath her breath, picking them back up. She faces her sister with wide eyes. “You need to see her,” Holly continues, firmly. “If you don’t, you’ll never be able to stop thinking about her. It’s going to kill you.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Poppy says after a moment. “I’m going to...I’m…”

 

“Go,” Holly says, softly. “I’ll finish packing for you.” She presses a kiss against Poppy’s forehead, squeezing her trembling hands. “Go.”

 

* * *

 

 

Duchess stands on the lake’s surface, face tipped to the moon. It’s not good, Poppy thinks, stumbling down the dark path and slipping on the shore, when Dutchess can’t even bring herself to dance her feelings. 

 

Poppy knows a split end when she sees one. Too bad this is a matted knot the size of Ever After. 

 

“Duchess…” Poppy trails off because what can she say? Why did you say yes to your destiny? Why didn’t you try? Why?  _ Why? _

 

Duchess turns her head. In the shadows, her expression is unreadable, but the droop of her shoulders and the melancholy sway of her wrists are all Poppy needs. Duchess is miserable; she used to dance like she was going to die.  _ Will _ she die? Or remain a swan? There are so many variations.

 

“D-Duchess, I…” 

 

“Please, don’t.” Duchess begs. “Don’t.”

 

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say,” Poppy says.  _ Then again, neither did I. _

 

“I don’t need to. There is nothing you can say that can stop this.” Duchess faces her fully, now, legs  _ croisé _ . “When morning comes, I’ll be a swan and you will be nothing.”

 

Poppy’s throat goes tight and her chest feels like it will collapse. She knew, distantly, that this would happen, but it had been at the back of her mind. Like Rapunzel’s fate--her  _ sister’s _ fate--she had ignored it in favor of the present, of her time with Duchess. It still doesn’t stop the pain, the feeling that her heart is being gutted out of her chest. 

 

_ You will be nothing. _

 

“But the ending--Duchess, you always said that you’d get a happy ending, that you’d--you’d  _ take _ it if you had to--”

 

“Then I would have wasted time I could have spent with you,” Duchess says, and blows her entire world to pieces. Poppy sinks to her knees, stunned. The pressure in her chest becomes a snake around her lungs, squeezing and  _ squeezing _ . “Being with you was more rewarding than what I was doing. So.”

 

_ She was afraid. _ Poppy covers her mouth.  _ She was afraid of this. _

 

“Dance with me,” Duchess says. “Please? One last time?”

 

She holds out her hand. Poppy shakily rises, and casts off her shoes. Rolls up her tights. She can barely think outside of the cacophony of horror in her head, of the guilt clogging in her blood. She should have just ignored it all together. She should have stopped looking. 

 

She expects to step into the water. She doesn’t expect to meet resistance. She glances down with a gasp, and takes another step. Maybe there’s some kind of magic at work now that Duchess has accepted her fate, her role. Poppy walks across the water and takes Duchess’s hand. 

 

“No--” It rattles in Duchess’s throat. “Oh, please don’t cry. Don’t cry, you idiot…” 

 

Poppy wants to scream that she can’t help it, that it just hurts so much, but she just nods and blots at her eyes with the heel of her hand. It comes away wet, mascara smudged. Should have gone with the waterproof kind. 

 

“I still don’t know ballet.” Poppy mutters it, miserable.

 

“That’s alright,” Duchess breathes. “Just follow me.”

 

_ Pas de deux. _

 

Duchess raises herself on her toes. Poppy doesn’t dance so much as hold her waist for the deep dips, watching the fragile stretch of ribs. She’s a little stronger than the first time; Dragon Game practice tends to work out the muscles.  _ Adagio. _ Careful movements that keep them connected, that mean nothing in the end. They have no music but Poppy can recognize the building crescendo of Odette’s suicide.

 

_ Allegro. _ Duchess goes faster and Poppy keeps up only by sheer virtue of recognizing the movements. Poppy hadn’t known that Duchess had simply given up.  _ She dances like she’s going to die. Please don’t die. _

 

It goes on for hours. Poppy is covered in sweat and her heart hasn’t stopped shattering, spinning fragments of glass into her veins and all along the inside of her ribs. Duchess said not to cry but she is, anyway, silent tears tracking black mascara down her cheeks. 

 

Duchess leads them in a spin, and then shoves. Poppy collapses into the shallows , water and mud treking up her dress. She breathes raggedly and looks up, just in time to see sunlight peeking over the trees. 

 

“No--” A horrified noise escapes her mouth. “No, no, please--”

 

Duchess smiles as she moves to the center of the lake. Magic and light builds in the center as she extends her legs, arms crossed above her head. 

 

“Duchess! No!” Poppy stumbles, churning the water. “You don’t have to do this! You  _ don’t! _ “ She screams it, going up to her knees, mid thigh. To her hips. She’ll paddle out if she has to, she will  _ she doesn’t care _ . 

 

“Why!” It’s a hoarse shout as the sky lightens to pink, then blue, as threads of magic swirl and bind Duchess down. “Why did you give up--?!”

 

“Because,” Duchess says, closing her eyes. “I am a selfish, selfish girl.”

 

The sun rises. The magic explodes, rippling out a shockwave that hits Poppy down with a wave of water so strong it flings her back to the bank, coughing on freshwater and slipping in the mud. When she opens her eyes, she watches a black swan take flight and soar into the morning sun. Something is clenched in her hand; when Poppy pries open her fist, she sees a single ebony feather.

* * *

 

 

She walks into the room dripping wet, heartbroken, and dead eyed. The Enchantress sits on her bare bed in deep conversation with Holly, discussing her tower imprisonment. “Well, of course it’ll have wifi, dear, we aren’t living in the stone ages anymore. And...my Stars. You look like the dog’s dinner.”

 

Holly is leaving. Duchess is gone. Poppy opens her mouth. 

 

“I want to go with you.”

 

* * *

 

 

The tower is cushy. Poppy thought she had given up this fate, but the soundproof walls of magic stone and blessed mortar secure her more than eternity working with hair. She can feel sorry for herself all day long if she wants. 

 

And oh, will she have days.

 

At night, Holly creeps into her room and sits with her. Brushfire, in her smallest form, sneaks in and hops up into the bed. Poppy lets the dragon curl against her chest as Holly strokes her hair. It’s small comforts--the safety of her sister, the warmth of her dragon--that make the ache in her chest tolerable. 

 

The Enchantress being accommodating helps, too. There are three rooms in the tower; Holly’s room, Poppy’s, then a shared kitchenette/living space with a looking glass to watch Hexflix, or the news. The fridge is enchanted to serve them their favorite foods at a whim, and to never be empty. 

 

The MirrorNet helps, sort of. Gilded cages are still cages. 

 

* * *

 

 

By year two, Poppy is mostly over it. She’s settled into a routine with Holly; brushing out her ever growing hair, braiding it tightly, and waiting for the day when Holly’s Charming comes along to start the rest of the myth. The Enchantress isn’t even around, most of the time. She’s got dozens of other stories to watch over and many princes to bespell, or princesses to tend to. She does bring the best of her garden, though, to share. There could be worse people to be stuck with.

 

One afternoon, Poppy hears the bugle of a flock of swans. She runs into Holly’s room, the one with the window, and leans out of it. 

 

They’re in a V formation. Specks of white against the blue, except for the pitch black spot at the point.

 

“Duchess!” Poppy screams, cups her hands around her mouth to amplify it. “ _ Duchess!” _

 

The swans veer away from the tower, and fade into the horizon. That night, Poppy takes one of the electric razors to her head and gives herself a wicked makeover. 

 

_ Short hair suits you more. _

 

* * *

 

 

Year three. Poppy wants to scream from how frustrated she feels. Holly won’t let her do anything to her hair anymore, not since the incident last year. Or even last month. Maybe trying to give herself an undercut wasn’t the  _ smartest  _ thing, but she’s desperate for something in her life to change, anything at all. Coming with Holly isn’t a mistake, because she loves Holly, dearly, and they help each other get through the worst of the lonely nights. 

 

“I couldn’t have made it without you here,” Holly admits, leaning against her. They’re watching Ginger’s new cooking show together.

 

“Me neither,” Poppy says. She flinches when she hears the swans and Holly turns up the volume. 

 

* * *

 

 

Year four, and Poppy hears it first. 

 

“ _ U-uh...Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair to me! _ ”

 

Good Godmother. That’s Dexter.

 

Poppy opens the door to Holly’s room. Holly is fast asleep, so Poppy does the best big sisterly thing ever and kicks her bed until she wakes with a snort. 

 

“Dexter Charming’s here.” Poppy watches Holly wipe away a line of drool from her sleep to mouth  _ what? _ and she can’t resist a laugh at that. “Come on! Get up, get up! Let me braid your hair!” 

 

When they thrown the heavy braid over the window sill, Poppy holds onto one bit of it to help pull Dexter up. Holly has a tender scalp, after all. When he swings over the sill he’s red faced, out of breath, and his glasses are fogged from the exertion. “Oh, geez, I’m sorry--g-give me a minute, I’ve just gotta get myself together.” 

 

They wait until the lenses are cleared. Dexter blinks at the two of them. 

 

“There are--are there two Rapunzels now?” 

 

“No, no, Poppy’s here for...emotional support!” Holly smiles, weakly. Poppy excuses herself to the other room because whatever happens next, she’s not privy to that. To think; Dexter Charming is going to be her brother-in-law.

 

_ Not if they rewrite the ending _ , something like hope whispers in the back of her mind. Poppy squashes it. 

 

If it were that easy, then Duchess would have stayed.

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s a shame you weren’t born a boy,” the Enchantress says slyly as Holly showers. Poppy looks up, scowling, from where she’s cutting an onion into little pieces. “Oh, stow that look away, girl. I’m trying to help. I know you’re pining over  _ something _ , probably a princess in black.”

 

“Shut up.” Poppy’s voice is venomous. “You don’t know anything about me.”

 

“Oh, and that little black feather you carry in your hand while you sleep? That’s nothing?”

 

Poppy hacks at the onion. Viciously. 

 

“Well, you should know that the O’Hair line has always had twins.” Poppy knows this. It’s in the damn fairytale. “Usually they’re fraternal, though. The boys always run off to be the princes of other little fairytales.” 

 

She doesn’t get the hint until later.

* * *

 

 

Poppy, Holly, and Dexter are splayed on the couch to watch the news. Blondie narrates happily, “And now! Apple White is consenting to a poisoning from Raven Queen in a completely unprecedented move of destiny! Isn’t that exciting, viewers?! We are watching history rewrite itself!” 

 

Apple waves to the camera and the audience. Takes her bite. When she collapses into Raven’s arms, a smile on her face and a ring clutched in her sticky fingers, Poppy feels something click into place. 

 

* * *

 

 

When the Enchantress comes to cut Holly’s hair, she finds that Poppy has already done it for her. She has an instant to be thoroughly surprised before Poppy shoves  _ her _ out the window and into the thornbush where Dexter was to be blinded. The Enchantress laughs as she falls, and before she vanishes in a cloud of glitter she flashes Poppy a thumbs up.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re sure about this?” Holly sits behind Dexter on his horse, nervously rubbing at her neck. They’ve never looked more similar, Poppy and her; Poppy hasn’t dyed their hair in years, so they’re both working with natural colors and cuts. The tower slowly vanishes behind them, it’s deed done. “You know what can happen to Duchess’s prince, right?”

 

Siegfried drowns with Odette, or loses her to the curse. But Duchess is both the black and white swan; her story’s been rigged from the beginning. Poppy will rewrite it with everything she has, if she can. 

 

Even if Duchess still rejects her in the end, at least she can free Duchess from the curse. Then maybe she can move on, too.

 

“I’m going to be fine,” Poppy says, and mounts Brushfire as the dragon grows to her full size. Dexter carted a saddle for her at her insistence, and considering she just saved him a hex of an eye doctor’s appointment, he owes her that much. “The curse is broken by public declaration. If Apple can do it, why can’t I?”

 

Holly grins at her. “Why can’t you, indeed?”

 

* * *

 

 

She asks Blondie for help, because who better than to film a vow of everlasting love to the kingdom than the girl who broke the news in the first place? It takes a few days to track down Duchess’s new lake, and longer still to get everything in motion. She asks Apple to make a formal request to tune in on a specific night for Poppy to feel comfortable with her plan, but it is what it is. 

 

She lands Brushfire a little ways away from the lake, before nightfall, and asks that Blondie wait in the sidelines and to not draw attention to herself. Poppy doesn’t want it to sound rehearsed; curses are so finicky. 

 

The sun begins to dip, and Poppy hears the sound of a hundred beating wings, the surprised and nervous bugles of swans. She throws her shoulders back and she waits. 

 

White swans swarm the surface of the lake, landing with splashes; in an instant, and a flourish of water and magic, beautifully gowned ballerinas dance atop the water, staring at her with a mix of curiosity and contempt alike. Poppy nervously fixes her short hair, wishing she’d grown out the one side again. What if Duchess doesn’t recognize her?

 

Too late to worry. The black swan, the Queen, lands in the water last. Her change is more dramatic, ribbons of water flying and rippling across the lake. Duchess stands in the center when the vortex ends, her chest heaving. 

 

“P-Poppy?” Her voice is ragged, and Poppy’s knees go weak. “What are you...what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”

 

Her confidence falters. “You don’t--want me here?” 

 

Duchess’s face crumples with pain. “I never said  _ that _ . I just said that you  _ shouldn’t _ .“

 

Poppy swallows the lump in her throat and takes a step. Cautious; her foot lands atop the water like it did four years ago, and she shudders. If it ends as badly as last time…

 

_ No. Don’t think about that. _

 

“Stop.” Duchess crosses her arms over her chest. “Stop right there. Don’t. I’m still waiting for the...prince. I’m not going to jeopardize that. I’m not going to force you to play mistress, Poppy O’Hair.”

 

“There is no prince coming for you,” Poppy says, and Duchess reels like she’s been slapped. “And you know it. Because there is no second swan that’s going to seduce him from you, just like there is no evil sorcerer here to stop me. It’s rigged, Duchess.”

 

“I know that!” Duchess crosses the water and tears fall from her eyes, landing in the lake. “Is this to get back at me?! I thought you were better than that--look, I’m  _ sorry _ , but I gave up sabotaging other endings for you! For us!”

 

“I never asked you to!” It bursts from her chest in a sob. “Duchess, even if it’s not with  _ me _ , I always wanted you to have your ever after! Just let me talk, for once!”

 

That shuts her up. Duchess scowls, but it fades soon enough. When she reaches up to touch Poppy’s face, to cup her cheek, it’s a gentle press. Duchess’s hands are so cold; Poppy feels her eyes slide shut. 

 

“Can’t believe you want to have a lover’s spat in front of my family,” she murmurs. “My cousins are all laughing at me right now.”

 

“Shut up.” Poppy opens her eyes with a smile. “You know, there’s always twins in the O’Hair line.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“The one that isn’t Rapunzel usually goes on to be a prince.” Poppy lets it hang, takes a breath. “Or a princess.” 

 

Duchess’s breath catches. “What are you doing?”

 

“Darling Charming is the only one who could wake Apple White from a sleeping spell. Why can’t your prince be a princess, too?”

 

Duchess hisses. “ _ Poppy? _ ”

 

“‘Who cares about the gender’, right?” Poppy reaches up and holds Duchess’s hand over her cheek. “Marriage is what breaks your spell, isn’t it? Or a public vow of everlasting love.”

 

“It’s been years. It was highschool.” Duchess breathes erratically, shaking. Poppy shares the anxiety; one wrong word, and Duchess is a swan  _ forever _ . Or worse--

 

_ Don’t surrender! _

 

“You’re afraid, because you’re both swans. You’re Odette and Odile. You wonder who can look past Odile and see Odette--or who can take Odette when she’s acting as caustic as Odile.” Poppy smiles. “You’re a brat, and you’re selfish. You’re rude and you’re pushy and you broke my heart on that lake without any warning. But you danced with me, and you helped me skate, and you made me believe that even someone without a destiny could live happily ever after.”

 

Duchess sobs, shaking her head. Her hair is black, and white, and it’s so much longer now. Her hand reaches around to palm the back of Poppy’s head, raking over the short, buzzed hairs at the nape of her neck. “ _ What are you doing? _ ” 

 

“I love you.” Poppy thinks that maybe it should reverberate through the air with magic power, declaring it loud and clear for the whole kingdom of Ever After to hear right now, immediately, but it just echoes over the lake and that’s enough. “I  _ love _ you. I love you at your worst and your best. When you’re sad. Angry. You’ve been on my mind for four years while I sat up in a tower and watched the world passed me by and I think you always will be.”

 

The swan maidens let out soft gasps, hands clasped to their hearts. Duchess’s legs buckle beneath her. She sobs again, and Poppy helps her wipe away the tears that stream down her face. She shakes her head, gasping--

 

“I make a  _ vow _ ,” Poppy says, trembling, “of  _ everlasting love _ .” 

 

“It’s not enough--” Duchess hiccups, her fingers clawing for Poppy’s arms. “It has to be in front of the  _ world _ \--”

 

“And there you have it, viewers.” Blondie’s voice rings out from behind. Duchess’s eyes shine in the glow of the camera’s lights, and she quakes in Poppy’s grip. “A vow of the curse-breaking kind. And on a world-wide stream, too.” 

 

Duchess mouths.  _ Live? _ Poppy nods. 

 

Duchess jerks in her grip. Poppy feels something  _ snap _ in the air, and suddenly she’s off balance as the water fails to hold her on top of it any longer. She lands flat on her butt, with a mouthful of water that she has to spit out-- _ deja vu, huh _ \--and she sees Duchess submerged as well. Duchess, who stares at her like she’s the only thing that matters. Duchess, who held so tightly to her heart that it broke just a little, but mended in that solid, selfish grip. 

 

“D-did it work?” Poppy is almost afraid to ask.

 

“If it hadn’t, I’d be a swan.” Duchess’s voice quivers. “Or dead.”

 

And then Duchess  _ lunges _ , grabbing her short hair and kissing her like it’s the end of the world. Poppy clings to her right back, both arms around her waist and digging her nails into the naked expanse of her back. They part; return. Part and return, again and again.

 

_ Pas de deux. _

 

They’re both sobbing wrecks when they stop kissing to try and breathe. Poppy runs shaking hands up and down Duchess’s back, whispering and shushing her. 

 

“Your hair--” Duchess swallows air like it’s water, hiccuping. “It’s still so short.” She runs her hands over and through it, again, smearing mud and water like it’s conditioner. “I love it, I  _ love it _ \--”

 

Duchess mouths it against her lips.  _ I love you. _

 

* * *

 

 

When the dawn breaks, Duchess remains human. Remains alive. Blondie calls for a bus to take herself and the swan maidens home, but Duchess and Poppy take Brushfire instead. In the sky, Duchess clutches her tight enough to make her question.

 

“You’re afraid of heights?” Poppy hollers over the wind. “You know what they say about fear, babe!”

 

“Oh, shut up! I’m not afraid of heights, you idiot!” Duchess presses a burning kiss against her pulse. “I’m not afraid of anything, anymore.” 

 

“Because you choose not to be?”

  
Duchess smiles against her skin. “Because I choose  _ you _ .” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! if you enjoyed it, or have some critique, feel free to leave a comment! also, yes, the whole everlasting vow stuff was yoinked from the swan princess movie. fight me.


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